I Need You, Augustus
by Jily.Love
Summary: Augustus is gone, and Hazel is all alone. But when she realizes that she's pregnant, she's torn- this child is her only remaining link to Augustus. On the other hand, death for her is inevitable.. should she really selfishly drag this innocent creature into the world?
1. Finding Out

Two weeks after Gus's funeral, and I still hadn't recovered at all. I slept a lot and threw up a lot. But these were normal side effects of cancer, so I wasn't too worried.

But then I realized that I hadn't gotten my period for almost two months. This wasn't unusual- the Phalanxifor messed with my body chemistry a lot. Still, a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach forced me to lug my body and oxygen tank out into the car.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mom said, standing up from where she had been pouring mulch onto her flowerbed. "It's almost eight already, Hazel. Where do you think you're going?"

I spewed some bullshit excuse about how I needed to clear my head, and that I'd be back by ten. "I just need some time, Mom."

She leaned in through the window, dropping a light kiss onto my forehead. "Drive save, honey."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. Then I carefully backed the car down the driveway. As soon as I was out of sight, I floored it, heading for the nearest pharmacy.

* * *

Staring at the neat row of pregnancy tests, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. If Kaitlin was here, she would know what to do- God knows she's had her fair share of experience with this kind of thing. But she wasn't here, and I was alone.

Finally, I chose a box from the middle and took it up to the register, where I tried not to make eye contact with the cashier, a gangly guy about my age.

"Here you go, ma'am," he ducked his head, blushing as I pushed a few wrinkled bills across the counter. "Have a nice night, now."

"You, too," I muttered, just wanting to get the hell out of there. As soon as I was back in the car, I dialed Isaac's number. "I'm on my way over," I warned him as soon as I heard his voice on the other end. Then I hung up, again willing myself not to cry.

_It'll be okay, Hazel Grace. Okay? Okay._

Gus's voice, again. After the funeral, I had started hearing his voice in my head. I didn't know if it was his idea of a sick joke from the afterlife, or if I was just going insane. Probably the latter.

* * *

"I need to use your bathroom," I told Isaac. "I'm sorry. I couldn't do this at home."

"Is everything okay?" Isaac's voice was concerned, and he reached out to grab my shoulder.

"It's fine, Isaac. Just fine. I just need to use the goddamn bathroom." My voice was tight and on the edge of hysteria as I pushed past him.

My hands trembled as I pulled the test out of the box. I peed on the stupid stick and knelt on the cool tile, trying to catch my breath.

Five minutes ticked by. Surely the test was done now, but I was terrified.

_Get it over with, Hazel Grace._

Cursing Gus under my breath, I turned and grabbed the stick. Two little pink lines.

"Fuck." I said it out loud this time. I was pissed- pissed at Gus for doing this and then abandoning me. Pissed at myself for being so stupid. Pissed at the world. Pissed at the cancer. "Fuck."

I could feel a full on breakdown coming, so I quickly stuffed the test back into the box and burst out of the bathroom. "Hazel?"

"Isaac, now's not a really good time. I'll explain later." I slammed the front door just because it felt good.

I drove aimlessly for a while. Somehow I ended up at Funky Bones, the night dark and quiet all around me. Without really thinking, I pawed through the trunk to unearth the old picnic blanket. It was a short walk to the sculpture, which was completely deserted.

My sobs couldn't be held anymore. Collapsing on the ground, my entire body shook. "Augustus, what the hell?"

Of course, there was no answer.

* * *

**Just an idea I had! If I get a positive response, I'll continue, so let me know if you liked it!**


	2. Hazel's Decision

**Wow. I was completely blown away by the response to the first chapter! Within 12 hours of posting the story, there were about 6 reviews and lots of favorites/follows too! So thank you so much! There are like 11 reviews now, so forgive me for not responding to each one individually.**

**And now, without further ado, I present to you... THE SECOND CHAPTER.**

* * *

I spent the night at Funky Bones. At about 5 a.m, my lungs woke me, screaming for oxygen. Of course. I struggled to my feet and tried to calm my racing heart as I shuffled back to the car for the spare oxygen tank that was always in the trunk.

When I could finally breathe again, I glanced at the sky. The sun was already rising, it's golden rays cutting hazy lines through the morning fog. It was beautiful, but I couldn't focus on the sunrise. I had bigger problems.

My cell was buzzing like an angry wasp. A call from the home number. There were twenty other missed calls, and I winced as I picked up.

"Hazel? Oh, thank God."

"I'm sorry Mom.. I just-"

I heard someone pick up the extension. "Hazel, where the hell have you been?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated, deciding apology was the best strategy.

"Get home. Now." His voice left no room for compromise. There was a click, and I was alone with my thoughts again.

* * *

"Hazel Grace Lancaster, where have you been?"

I hated the sound of my middle name. I was always Hazel Grace to Gus, and the use of that name by anyone else hurt my entire being.

"I just-"

"Hazel, I get that you're struggling. We both understand that. But you can't shut yourself off like this. You need to take care of your body, Hazel. Augustus is dead, Hazel. You need to understand that." Dad was pissed.

"Yeah, Dad, I get it. I'm highly aware that he's dead, thanks for the update!"

"Hazel, that's not what he means." My mother, always the peacemaker.

Instead of shutting my mouth, I turned on her. "What does he mean then, Mom? I can't think of another possible interpretation!"

"He means that you're here, and Gus isn't. You need to put yourself and your needs first, Hazel!" Mom was getting fired up too.

I could feel the tears building in my eyes. "You have no idea how hard this has been for me. Don't even pretend to know."

"Hazel, you don't think it's been hard for us? Watching you slowly wither away for the last four years? Watching your heart get ripped apart by this? It hurts us to see you hurting, honey." Dad had softened his tone a little. "You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yeah." My voice was nearly a whisper.

"Tell us, sweetie. You know you can tell us anything. Where were you last night?" Mom sat next to me on the sofa, leaning against my shoulder.

"I went to Funky Bones."

"Why?"

"I'm pregnant." The words exploded from my lips before I had a chance to think about them. "I needed to be alone."

Dad started laughing, laughing so hard he was gasping for air. "No, seriously, Hazel."

"I'm not joking." The laughter stopped abruptly.

I've honestly never seen my parents look so angry. Once, when I was about five, they were both upstairs sleeping when I snuck down into the kitchen. I systematically took all of the drinking glasses and dropped them on the floor. I had just started on the plates when they appeared in the doorway. That was the angriest I had ever seen them. And now? They looked like fire would come shooting out of their ears. But also sad. Or maybe disappointed. Maybe a combination of the three.

However, they didn't say anything. Maybe they were too in shock. But when I saw them exchange a look over my head, I knew the issue wasn't over. And for whatever reason (blame it on the pregnancy hormones if you must), I burst into tears.

"Hazel, sweetie, why don't you go rest?" Mom suggested calmly. "I'll come hook you up to your machine and you can take a nice nap. We don't have to talk about this right now."

I nodded through the tears and allowed her to take my hand, leading me upstairs like I was a little kid.

Attached to Philip, my BiPAP, air being forced in and out of my lungs, I was too tired to cry anymore. Instead, I closed my eyes and succumbed to sleep.

* * *

_Outside, a frigid wind blew. Snowflakes fell from the sky. But inside the house, the weather was the complete opposite. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the three figures on the couch sipped steaming drinks from ceramic mugs._

_One of the figures on the couch was a woman. Her hair was short, and an smirk danced across her mouth, as if there was a joke that the other two weren't in on yet. A cannula snaked around her neck into her nose, and an oxygen tank rested beside her._

_The figure next to her was a man with tangled mahogany hair. One arm rested on the back of the couch behind the woman's head, and he wasn't smiling, but it was obvious he was happy, based on the way his eyes sparkled. A prosthetic limb peeked out of the leg of his flannel pajama pants._

_The smallest figure was a little girl, light brown hair curling around her shoulders. She couldn't have been more than three, but there was a maturity to the way she held herself. There was a lightness, too- just like her father, she had sparkling eyes that showed the world how happy she was, how enchanted she was with life._

_They all looked happy. Not like life was easy- for them, life wasn't easy. But they looked happy. They were happy that they had all made it this far in life. Happy that while work wasn't the best and sometimes it was hard for the mother to breathe and for the father to walk, it hadn't stopped them. And they were happy that they had this chance to be together on a cold winter's night._

I woke up with tears streaming from my eyes, my tubes gunked up because of how much I had been crying.

* * *

When I opened my eyes again, Mom was standing over me, holding a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and carrot sticks. "Eat up," she instructed. "You need the energy." I could tell that she was trying to keep her voice level.

Normally I would argue about the carrot sticks, but today I ate them quietly as she unhooked me from Philip and attached my cannula to an oxygen tube.

"Family meeting downstairs, okay?" Listening to her say 'okay?' was another thing that made me wince. It had been a special, sacred word with Gus, one meant to show love and commitment. Now it hurt me, like I was being stabbed in the section of my heart devoted to Gus. "Hazel? Now."

"Yeah, sorry." I shook myself out of my stupor. "I'm coming."

* * *

By the time I made my way downstairs, they were both sitting on the sofa, leaving me to settle into the big armchair.

"So," Dad began. "You're pregnant." He's never really been one for beating around the bush.

"I am indeed." I tried not to sound too sarcastic.

"Have you thought about your options?"

"Only for like a straight 24 hours."

"And?"

I still hadn't really come to a conclusion. Despite thinking about my pregnancy for hours on end, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. I wanted to minimize the casualties, of course, and thus I was pretty strongly anti-abortion, at least for myself. But to give birth would mean risking my health and also the health of the child, my child.

I tried to disappear into my mind, into that dark, velvety blue corner where I could be alone and think clearly. I even closed my eyes, knowing that this decision was one of the most important I would ever make.

To keep up the monotone of my crappy life, or to introduce my offspring to the crappiness of my life as well? When given that choice, it's pretty obvious, and most people wouldn't think twice.

But then I thought of the dream I had just had. The mother, father, and daughter sitting together. And more than anything, I wanted that. That feeling of happiness and satisfaction.

"I want to keep it." The words came out of my mouth, and I immediately knew they were true.

"Hazel.." Mom was using her 'Maybe that's not such a good idea' voice.

"What?" I demanded. "I've thought this through. It's my body and my decision."

Bad choice of words. They began ranting, telling me all the risks and problems that would come if I became a mother. Telling me that my health would just be more strained by the birth of my child.

Still, I stuck with my decision. "I'm keeping it. I really have nothing to lose, right?" My voice got quieter. "Think of it this way. I never thought I'd ever be a mother. It's just one of those things that you don't do if you have terminal cancer."

"I'm worried that you're trying to hold on to a piece of Augustus by keeping the baby." Dad found his voice. "And it won't help, it'll just hurt you more."

I sighed, sinking back into the armchair. Maybe he was right. But still... "I just feel like this is something I have to do."

"Then we'll be behind you every step of the way," Mom told me. A grin split her face. "Holy cow.. I'm going to be a grandma!"

* * *

**Again, thank you all so much for your support of this story! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, and maybe what you'd like to see in later chapters! *hugs***


	3. Telling Gus's Parents

**Short-ish chapter, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you for your incredible support!**

* * *

In retrospect, I realize that their reaction was completely inappropriate. Most parents, upon discovering their 16 year old daughter was pregnant, would go ballistic. Another Cancer Perk, I suppose. You're simultaneously treated older and younger than you actually are.

Of course, things were a little strained between us, even after their initial excitement. They were still happy, of course, but the fact that I was pregnant with my dead boyfriend's child put a bit of a damper on things.

I was already two months into my pregnancy, and I knew that I had the responsibility to tell Gus's parents. So I put on the yellow dress I had worn on the night of the broken trophies, brushed on a little blush, and walked downstairs.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" From Mom's tone of voice, I could tell that she wanted to be there for me. But it was something I had to do alone.

"I'll be fine. I might stop by Isaac's on my way back, all right?"

She nodded. "Don't be too late." She hugged me quickly, stiffly. How do you treat your daughter when she's pregnant and going to tell the father's parents?

Sitting in my car in Gus's driveway (I still thought of it as _his_ driveway), I took a moment to bow my head. I've never been particularly religious, but it just seemed like the right thing to do. "God, if you could make this all okay, I'd really appreciate it." My voice seemed too loud, abrasive, but I kept talking. "Um, I know this will be a shock to them but it would be great if they were supportive. I can't do this on my own." My prayer changed a bit as I realized that I wasn't talking to God, but to Gus. "Gus, please. They're your parents, could you please help me out here? Um, thank you. I.. I love you."

Biting my lip to fight back tears, I climbed out of the car with my oxygen tank and dragged myself up the front walk. _Might as well get it over with_, I decided, and raised a hand to knock on the door.

Before I could actually knock, the door swung open, revealing Mr. Waters. "Hazel!" He sounded genuinely happy to see me. "Come on in. What can we do for you?" Behind him, Mrs. Waters was stirring a pot of something on the stove. She waved, smiling, but her eyes were sad.

I took took a deep breath, trying to will my lungs to not suck. "I actually needed to talk with you guys. Can we sit down somewhere?"

They led me into the living room, and I took a seat on the sofa, Mrs. Waters next to me and Mr. Waters across from us in a recliner. "What's up, Hazel?"

_Just say it, Hazel, you can do it._ "You guys remember when Gus and I went to Amsterdam, right?" They both nodded. "Um, one day we ended up going back to his hotel room." They both nodded again, not really comprehending what I was saying. I steeled myself, then blurted it out.

"I'm pregnant."

Looking back, I wish that I had taped their reactions. Mrs. Waters gasped, her eyes wide, and all the color drained from Mr. Waters's face. I sat there, trying not to burst out laughing.

"Get out of our house." Mr. Waters found his voice. "What are you waiting for? Get out."

I couldn't move, I was so shocked. Mrs. Waters covered my hand with hers, protectively. "Honey," she spoke to her husband, "I think that's a little harsh, don't you? Why don't you go upstairs, and Hazel and I will discuss this."

When he was gone, she turned to me. "I apologize for his behavior, Hazel. He's going through a tough time now. We all are."

I shook my head. "It's fine. I completely understand."

She pulled me into a hug. "I wish you didn't understand, Hazel. You're young. You shouldn't have to understand this."

I felt tear welling in my eyes. She was right. I shouldn't know the pain of losing someone I loved. I shouldn't know the truth, that my child would possibly not survive, and that after it was born, I would most likely die. No one should know that pain.

"My husband is in a tough place right now, Hazel. He'll come around eventually. But in the meantime, I'll be there for you, all right?" I nodded. "And of course, after the child is born, we'd be more than happy to support you financially."

"Thank you," I whispered, hugging her. "That means a lot."

"Anytime, sweetheart," she told me. "Have a safe drive back, all right? That's my grand-baby you're carrying."

I mustered up a smile. "Will do."

I had planned to go to Isaac's house, so that's where I went. When he opened the door, I was already a mess of tears.

"Hazel, we have GOT to stop having these emotional meetings." He was concerned though, and led me inside. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"Eventually."

"Then by all means, carry on with the waterworks." He pulled me onto the couch and I collapsed into tears on his chest.

"Let it out," he murmured. "It'll be all right, Hazel."

* * *

**Thank you all for your support! Don't forget to let me know what you like, and what I could improve. *hugs* Y'all are the best.**


	4. The Truth

The whole damn support group knew now, thanks to Patrick. Mom had told him, and then he had repeated it so loudly that everyone heard.

People have always stared at me; carrying an oxygen tank around exactly blending into the background. But since more people were finding out, and my bump was starting to show, it felt like everyone was always watching. Needless to say, it made me feel ridiculously self-conscious. Which was why I was slicking on tinted lip balm on Tuesday afternoon.

"Hazel!" Loudmouth Patrick practically screamed my name across the basement, making everyone's head snap towards me. All of them (those that had the energy, anyway) clustered around me, firing questions at a rapid pace.

"How are you?"

"Is the baby healthy?"

"Hazel, Hazel! Is it a boy or a girl?"

"Have you been taking your vitamins?"

"What do your doctors say?"

I tried to produce a smile that said "Hello, yes, please back away from the pregnant, cancerous girl!" But it didn't work, so I closed my eyes and massaged the bridge of my nose. Then I adopted a pathetic, weak voice. "Guys, can I s-sit down? I need to b-breathe."

Bad, I know. Pregnant times call for desperate measures.

The second my butt hit the seat, they all raced to sit down, and dead silence fell as I pretended to get my breath back.

"Hi, guys," I said finally, when the silence became unbearable. "Um.. How are you all?"

Patrick jumped in. "Hazel, I'm sure everyone wants to hear about you and the baby. Why don't you give us an update?"

I tried my best not to glare at him. The last thing I wanted to do was talk. "Um, okay.. I'm doing all right. I had an ultrasound three weeks ago, and they said the baby was healthy but that it wasn't growing very fast, which could be a problem later." I pretended not to see the sympathetic faces. "Um.. yeah. It's a little too early to determine the gender yet, but I'm having the 20-week ultrasound in about a month. And I have to go talk to my doctors tomorrow, so that's going to suck, because they're still pushing for an abortion. So.. yeah." I awkwardly trailed off as I realized I was rambling.

"As long as you think you're doing the right thing, we're happy for you, Hazel." Patrick was grinning, no doubt ecstatic that I was actually talking.

The rest of the session passed by in a blur. Without Isaac there (he had stopped coming after Gus died) everything was more boring and there was no one to exchange sarcastic breaths with.

At the end, Patrick tacked on a prayer for me and the baby. _The prayer for me won't be necessary after five more months_, I thought. _Because then I'll be gone._

I tried to get out as quickly as I could, but I got caught up in a crowd of well-wishers. I half expected them to make me sign autographs.

Finally, I managed to escape to the car. And I wasn't ready to go home yet, so I stopped at a coffee shop for orange juice and drove to Funky Bones.

* * *

It was shocking empty at the sculpture, just me and the gray sky. I picked a spot to sit on the ground and I took a sip of orange juice and I cried.

I cried for Gus. I cried for his smile and his eyes, and for the feel of his skin against mine. I cried for the way he spouted metaphors constantly. I cried for the way he brought me orange juice and cheese sandwiches and flowers and flew me to Amsterdam. I cried for his stupidly big heart, and the stupid amount of cancer that won out over his weak body.

It occurred to me that I had cried too much over the past few months.

I cried for my baby. I cried for it, and the way it would never know her mother or father. I cried for myself, and how I would never know my baby. I cried for my parents, and how they would have to find a life to live when I was gone.

I heard footsteps, and a lilting, childish voice ask, "Why are you so sad?"

When I looked up, my eyes bugged out of my head. It was the little girl who had tried my cannula at the mall, Jackie.

I tried to wipe my tears away and smile at the same time. "I miss someone I love a lot right now."

"Jackie!" Her mom was calling, already halfway to the parking lot.

"Don't be sad," Jackie whispered. She leaned in quickly and gave me a hug before running away.

When I saw her skipping across the field, I couldn't help shedding a few more tears, hoping and praying that my child would be just like her.

* * *

The next morning was sucky for many reasons.

1) I had to wake up early. Apparently the doctors were so ridiculously booked that our meeting could only happen at 7:30 a.m.

2) I hit my knee on the edge of the bathtub. Hard. A bruise was already forming as I limped over to my bed to get dressed.

3) I was sure the doctors would try to convince me to abort the baby.

4) The shirt I was planning to wear wouldn't fit over my baby bump.

5) I threw up. Twice. Thanks, unborn child of mine.

So I was in an understandably crappy mood as I curled up in the backseat of the car. And it only became more crappy as Mrs. Waters joined me in the backseat (Mr. Waters wasn't 100% on board with the whole baby thing) and added her forced pep to the journey.

"So, Hazel, how are you, dear?"

"Fine."

"Excited to be a mom?"

"Sure."

"And how are you feeling?"

"Okay."

"Has the morning sickness gone away?"

"Not really."

Finally, Mom turned around. "Hazel, show some manners."

"I'm tired."

She glared at me. Then, turning to Mrs. Waters, "I apologize for Hazel's manners. She's been pretty grumpy lately."

I felt rage bubbling in the pit of my stomach, but I was too tired to react. So instead, I leaned up against the window and closed my eyes.

* * *

Things didn't get much better. Dr. Maria greeted me at the door with a wide grin and a hug. But of all the doctors in the room, she was the only one who seemed positive.

Before I could take a breath, I was bombarded with information. Stuff like, "You have more of a chance at recovery if you abort the pregnancy" and "You don't really have the funds to raise a baby and take care of your own health."

To my surprise, my dad slammed his hands on the table, making everyone jump. He stood, and I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

"She said," he growled, "that she doesn't want an abortion. Okay?"

"Honey," my mom tugged on his sleeve. He shook her off.

"If Hazel wants to have this baby, then no one is gonna stop her. She's mature enough to make her own decisions. Is it gonna be easy? No. Is it going to threaten her life? Yes. But it's ultimately her decision, and you have to respect that."

I'd never seen him that worked up, but something in his speech had sparked a question. "Um.. How likely is it that I'll die?"

Mom gasped, and I felt bad. But I needed to know what I was up against, even if it meant facing the hard truth.

Maria slowly met my eyes. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

"Odds are 80-20 in favor of your death after the baby, Hazel."

Mom started crying.

"I'm still keeping it," I say calmly. "I'll die anyway, right?" My voice catches a little. "I'm all in."

* * *

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	5. Unforeseen Perfection

**Long time no update! I've been so busy that I haven't had time to write (junior year, woohoo), but I'm back now! Enjoy!**

* * *

I've never been one to think about suicide. I mean, yeah, I was depressed before, but that was more "hey, I'm gonna die soon, and there's no use in getting out of bed". To be honest, I've always thought suicide was a bit of a cop-out.

But as my pregnancy progresses (I'm five months now), the depression has been creeping up again, and this time, it's brought suicidal thoughts. And now I feel like offing myself would make everything a lot easier. My parents wouldn't be paying for hospital bills every month. They wouldn't have the baby to remind them of me. And I wouldn't have to put up with the suffering of getting needles and tubes stabbed into my body. In fact, I can't think of a single good thing that would result from my sticking around.

The thing about depression is that it's all-encompassing. Every single thing you do is tinged with a shade of sadness. You don't enjoy doing the things you used to enjoy. And it _sucks._ Even reading _AIA_ doesn't make me happy. Honestly, what's the point?

Which brings us to now. My parents are out at the store. I'm standing in the kitchen, a cleaver in my hand, my arm stretched out over the sink. Lowering the blade to my wrist, I take a deep breath. _Soon the suffering will be over._

But I can't do it.

What could suck more than walking into your house to see your daughter laying on the floor in a pool of blood? Besides, bleeding isn't the most efficient way. I could be suffering for hours, and by that time my parents will surely be home.

So I walk into the family room, toting my oxygen tank behind me, and collapse on the couch, debating. _What do I need most to survive?_

The answer comes in the form of my oxygen crashing down on my foot. Between curses, I realize the answer.

Slowly, I remove my cannula from my nostrils. Already my chest feels tighter. After five minutes my lungs won't be able to handle the loss of oxygen, and will fail, which will trigger the failure of my other organs, and eventually my heart will stop beating.

My vision is getting hazy now. It's been a minute already. _One down, four to go._ The pain is unspeakable. I haven't gone this long without my tubes in since I was diagnosed four years ago. As painful as it is, there's also a sense of freedom.

As the edges of my vision begin to darken, I feel something thump against my stomach. _Can you really feel your organs failing?_ Another thump. Not even a thump, more like a poke.

A poke? Realization strikes as I use every inch of willpower to reach for my cannula, stuffing it into my nose.

The thumps weren't my organs failing. They were my baby, kicking me for the first time.

* * *

At the hospital, I bite my tongue as the tube stabs into my side, but a whimper still escapes. Mom holds my hand. She was the one who I called after I could breathe again, translating my sobs and rushing back to drive me to the hospital. Her cheeks are still tear stained, but her face is fierce, ready to protect me.

When we got to the hospital, I begged the doctors to make sure the baby was okay, but their first priority was my health. After my lungs are drained, they'll send me up to get an ultrasound.

How could I have possibly been so stupid? I would blame it on the hormones, but no. This one is completely my fault.

Just as I'm contemplating what a horrible mother I'll make, the unpleasant sensation of a tube being pulled from my body flashes me back to the present. A nurse smiles down at me. "Hazel, if you're ready, I'll take you up for your ultrasound now."

As she wheels me to the elevator, I close my eyes, praying with every fiber of my being that my baby is okay. Because if it's not, what do I really have to live for? That sounds ridiculous, given that I just tried to kill myself, but it's true. The baby's kick made me put my cannula back in, and if I hurt it, I don't know how I could live with myself.

* * *

The ultrasound technician has a kind face, but it's clear that she thinks I'm just another irresponsible teen mom. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

As she spreads the clear, gooey gel across my stomach, I can feel my pulse racing. "Hazel, I need you to relax," the technician reminds me. "Just take deep breaths."

I choke down my giggles. _Take deep breaths?_ Ah, yes. Classic. Telling the cancer patient with lung problems to take deep breaths. I make a mental note to tell Isaac about this disgusting display of ignorance.

The metallic _wawawa_ of a baby's heartbeat fills the tiny room. I can't contain my smile. "It's okay, right? A heartbeat means the baby's all right?"

The technician doesn't look quite so happy. "Yes, in theory. But the oxygen deprivation to your body, even for a few minutes, is very harmful to the fetus. It can lead to a lot of complications down the road for both of you."

I want to kick myself. I've always prided myself on above-average intellect. Why was I so stupid about this?

The technician isn't done yet. "Would you like to know the gender?"

Another internal debate is launched. All the baby books I've read say that once you know the gender, you become even more attached to the baby, and it's even harder to recover in the event that you miscarry.

But in all honesty, I want to know the gender. Even if something goes wrong, I want to know as much as possible about my baby. So I suck it up and look the technician straight in the eye. "Yes, please."

She smiles. "Hazel, you'll hopefully be having a beautiful baby boy."

I feel happy tears forming in my eyes, and I can't stop smiling as she wipes the gel off my stomach with a paper towel. After I've been wheeled back to the waiting room, my mom ambushes me.

"Well?"

The tears are coming back, and at first she thinks something is wrong. "Oh, Hazel. It's all right, sweetheart. You'll be okay." She wraps her arms around me, but I pull away.

"No, Mom, everything's fine for now. It's just…I found out that I'm having a boy."

She shrieks, then dances what could only be described as a jig. "Oh my goodness, Hazel. Oh my goodness. This is incredible." Tears are falling from her eyes too, and then we're both sobbing and holding each other, overcome with the joy of it.

Nothing is perfect. Considering the circumstances, that day in the hospital came pretty close.

If only we knew what was coming.

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***sings* Cliffhanger because I'm a terrible person! Leave me a review to let me know what you think! Hopefully now that I'm less busy I'll be updating more, DFTBA!**


	6. The End

I don't want it to end this way.

I thought I had endured the worst pain already.

Imagine every molecule of your body is on fire, and you're trying desperately to draw a breath.

But you can't.

And every single part of you is screaming, but you can't take in any air, so the only part of you not screaming is your mouth.

And all you can do is lie in bed as your body gets weaker and weaker.

I don't want it to end this way.

I never got to say goodbye to my parents.

I never got to say goodbye to Isaac.

I'll never get to meet my baby boy.

But when I'm gone, the suffering will be over.

And maybe-who knows?-I'll be able to see Gus again.

Maybe my parents will be able to pay off their debt.

Maybe, just maybe, everything will work out.

Still, this isn't how it was supposed to end.


	7. Not The End

**So.. sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter? I wanted to see how people would respond and it was setting up this chapter. It was pretty funny to see how freaked out some of you were.**

**I'm evil.**

**Anyway, here's a nice long chapter to make up for the last one! Enjoy!**

* * *

Dying is a lot louder than you might expect.

Movies always portray death as the blast of a gun, screams, and blaring sirens. But everyone knows that most death is quietly slipping away in your sleep, an unseen heart failure, the peaceful silence of old age.

There is never silence in a hospital. Even at night, the beep of machines can be heard up and down the halls. The hushed voices of family slip under doors and around corners. There is always one doctor or another coming in to jot down notes, the scratch of a pen gouging holes in the dark quiet.

I would much prefer to die silently. It would be a welcome reprieve from the rattle of my own tortured breath. What a gift it would be, to slip quietly from one life to whatever lies beyond. The fading pain, the sudden peace would be a reward in itself.

Instead, when my eyes open, I am assaulted with so much noise and pain that I have to close them. My chest burns. There is an ache in my hips and stomach that is, in a way, the worst pain I have ever felt. Carefully, I open my eyes again. The first thing I notice is the four IVs stabbed into my right arm and the three in my left. There is a dried dribble of blood on the back of my right hand. I try to lift my arms, but it feel like there is lead in my veins. Abrasive voices all around snap orders, and the squeak of rubber sneakers against the tile floors makes me flinch.

My parents are nowhere to be found in the crowd of pastel scrubs and neat white coats.

"Mom? Dad?"

A nurse crouches beside me, auburn hair tied in a bun. "Hazel, it'll be okay. You're going into surgery soon." Like lightning, she replaces one of my IV bags with a clear fluid that makes my head fuzzy almost immediately.

* * *

The next time I wake up, the beeping of machines is more subdued, and the voices are quieter. There's a substantial lack of IVs, although there's a tube in my side draining my lungs.

"Oh God, she's awake!"

My parents both stand from their chairs next to my bed so quickly that I jerk back into my pillows in alarm.

"What happened?" It hurts to talk.

Mom suddenly becomes absorbed in pouring a glass of water for me and wiping drops of condensation off the pitcher, while Dad begins adjusting my blankets. "It's my life. You have to tell me."

Still, they're silent.

"You collapsed." My head snaps towards the doorway, where Isaac leans on his cane, trademark smirk plastered across his face. "Scared the life out of us."

Dad is blinking hard, staring at his hands. "Maybe Isaac should explain," he manages to choke out.

"What the hell is going on?" My hands shake so hard that I have to put my water on the bedside table.

Mom stands, looking so miserable that I want to scoop her into my arms and hold her. "Isaac can explain. We'll wait outside." She crosses to Isaac and helps him to her vacated chair, then takes Dad's elbow and pulls him out of the room.

As soon as the door is firmly shut behind them, I fold my arms and glare in Isaac's direction. "You better give me a good answer."

"Would I lie to you, Hazel?"

"Then tell me!" I snap. "I've been in this hospital for God knows how long and _no one has told me anything!_"

"Five weeks."

"What?"

"You've been here for five weeks."

"And?" My voice is thin.

"No one really knows what happened. You've been on life support for most of the time." He fiddles with the wrist strap on his cane.

"You promised you would give me a good answer. What happened?" I would slap him if I could move more than a few inches in any direction.

"I told you. You collapsed one night. You didn't cry out or anything, so your parents didn't know until morning. Your liver had shut down. The only reason you stayed alive was your BiPAP. It kept your lungs from accumulating too much fluid."

I absorb this, smoothing the blankets around my body. My hand skims across my stomach, and I freeze. When I speak, my voice is deadly quiet. "Isaac, why don't I have a baby bump anymore?"

He doesn't answer, and I lose it. "He's gone, isn't he? He died because I'm fucking stupid and I thought I could handle it and now he's gone and it is ALL MY FUCKING FAULT."

"Hazel-"

"Why couldn't they just tell me? I'm their daughter! How could I be so stupid, Isaac? Why did I think I could do this?" My tears fall hot and fast and I bury my face in my hands.

"Hazel. I didn't finish. He's not dead."

My heart soars, and I almost scream with the relief. "He's okay, then?"

Isaac's getting irritated, I can tell. "Would you let me finish?"

I nod before I realize he can't see me. "Yes. Please. Sorry."

"Your parents got you to the hospital as fast as possible, but it didn't look good. Your parents showed them the contract you signed with the doctors." The contract had been Dad's idea. We had signed it when I was six months pregnant, legally stating that the baby was a priority and that in the event of an emergency, the doctors would do everything in their power to save him first.

"And then?"

"So they performed an emergency C-section," Isaac continues. "It didn't look good for either of you. Your dad said-" His voice breaks. "Your dad said that the baby was so small that he looked like the tiny doll you used to carry around."

I'm trying not to start bawling again, biting my tongue to keep from interrupting him.

"So they got him shipped off to the premature unit. You were barely seven months along when it happened. And the doctors started working on you. You were falling apart. No one expected you to live longer than a few days."

"I was conscious a couple times," I recall suddenly.

Isaac nods. "Right after they did the C-section, before surgery on your liver and heart."

"But that was right after I got here. It's been five weeks. What else happened?"

"A work of God or nature, I don't know. We thought you were going to die. Your entire family showed up to say goodbye. And then your liver just… started working again. The doctors said that hardly ever happens. So they tried taking you off life support and your heart malfunctioned. You needed three surgeries for that."

"So they just ended up keeping me on life support? God.. that must have cost a fortune."

Isaac sighs. "Do you want to know why they made me tell you this?"

"Why?"

"Today was the day they were going to take you off the life support. They were in here saying their last goodbyes when you woke up."

I almost stop breathing. "They were?"

"Hazel, you can't hold it against them. No one thought you would make it."

"They were going to kill me."

"They were going to end your suffering, Hazel. They felt so guilty."

I'm about to ask another question, but the opening of the door stops me. Three nurses march in, followed by my parents. "Hazel, we have to get you down to the premature unit."

"What? Why?" In my heart, I know exactly why.

The answer comes and slaps me squarely in the face.

"He's not doing well."

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**Please review to let me know what you think! I spent such a long time on this chapter, I'd love to get some feedback. DFTBA!**


	8. Capital S Somewhere

**It's been over a year since I updated, so you might want to go back and read the previous chapter. This is the final chapter, enjoy!**

I have been scared many times in my life. The first time I was diagnosed, sitting in the doctor's office, the PET scan of my lungs projected on the wall, I wanted to curl up and cry. Even though I had no idea the suffering I would endure, the tension in the pit of my stomach was enough to make me realize that the future would be far too rocky for my liking. I was scared as Gus and I sat in Amsterdam and he told me the cancer was back. I was scared when he called me at two in the morning, telling me his G tube was malfunctioning. There was a time when I feared nothing but the phone call from his parents, telling me it was all over.

Those fears caused suffering and tears and the deepest sadness I have ever felt, but they are nothing compared to the fear I feel now.

My baby. The baby boy that I hoped and prayed would be healthy, the one that kept me from killing myself. The only physical part of Augustus I have left.

I had always appreciated the size of Memorial, had always felt that it was so big that somewhere in its depths, the cure to cancer must reside. Since I was diagnosed, I found comfort in the sheer enormity of the oncology department and the way it felt like home. Yet now, as I am strapped to a bed and rushed through the endless corridors to the elevator, I curse the size of the building and the number of floors I must pass to get to my child.

We make quite the scene, four nurses pushing my bed through the halls, my parents running behind us, wheels squeaking. There is a forced calm in the air, but we all know what's riding on this. We all know that this could very well be the end, that everything could come crashing down at any moment now.

As we reach the elevator, Dad slams his hand into the button before anyone else can, and it's an excruciating wait as we listen to the creaking of the cables.

One of the nurses briefs me on the last five weeks as we wait, and I can hear the anxiety in her voice, which only serves to make me more desperate to get downstairs. "Hazel, stay with me, okay? You gave birth on December 12, when you were about seven months and one week pregnant. Typically, for premature babies, the odds are good during that time period, but it's more complicated in your case. We had to do an emergency C-section, and at birth, he only weighed one pound and two ounces. After being in the neonatal ICU for the last five weeks, he still only weighs 3 pounds and 8 ounces, which is two pounds lighter than where a full-term baby usually is at birth."

By now, the elevator is shooting down to the third floor, where he is, and I can barely focus, but I force myself to listen to the nurse's voice. "He's had a myriad of health problems in the last five weeks, Hazel. He developed high levels of bilirubin, which caused jaundice, which can in turn cause brain damage. Since his case was so severe, we had to perform a blood transfusion when he was three days old, and another when he was two weeks old. He also developed apnea, common in premature babies, which caused him to stop breathing. He's still on medication for that, and it's possible that if he survives, he'll need a breathing device for the rest of his life. Today, he was diagnosed with Bronchopulmonary Dysplasia, which is a severe lung problem. He reacted very badly to the medicine we gave him, and the medicine also reacted badly with his other medication. Since he's a very unique case, we don't really know what will happen next."

_If_ he survives… I try not to show how badly that comment cuts me, the fact that he's lived a life of suffering and he still might not survive. I turn my focus instead to the halls of the NICU, watching doors and windows and fluorescent lights flash by. "Almost there, Hazel," one of the other nurses encourages as we shoot through another set of doors, and then we're there, and the silence shocks me, but there's a hum going through the air too, a hum as the staff realizes that I'm there, and then I realize that there are too many of them clustered around one small bassinet, and my heart just about stops, because what if we're too late and what if I can't see him and what if what if what if.

None of us are allowed into the room where the babies are- we can only look through the windows. Mom and Dad are clutching my hands and I'm full-out praying even though I still don't know if I believe in a God and suddenly the nurses step back from him and my heart drops but I can see their faces and they are filled with disbelief and then I see… a smile. One of them smiles. And in that moment, I know. Suddenly the nurses surrounding him are smiling and the doctor with them turns to see us and begins making his way out of the room and when he reaches us he says the most beautiful words I've ever heard: "It's a miracle. He's in stable condition."

It's like a dam is breaking inside of me. Suddenly all the tears that I've been storing up for the last five weeks begin falling, and I'm a mess of snot and tears and Mom and Dad are sobbing too, and the nurses are all crying and I can't contain my joy, and all of a sudden the pain that I had to go through to reach this moment all seems worth it.

And there's more. I meet the doctor officially, Doctor Jameson, and all the nurses, and the families that are there visiting their own babies. And later in the day, when I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but I can't bear the thought of leaving the NICU, the new nurses on duty wheel him over to the window. And for the first time since Augustus, I allow myself to think of the future.

He's been nameless for five weeks, ever since his birthday. But today, on January 20, I name him. I name him Augustus Peter Lancaster.

His middle name is Peter, for Van Houten. For of a man long broken by his daughter's disease, a man that wrote a book that brought the great love of my life and myself together. The man that crossed an ocean for Gus's funeral, the man that gave me the hope and the courage to continue. Peter Van Houten is a miserable alcoholic who will die sad and alone. I give his name another chance in my baby, that he will grow up to be what Van Houten is not.

And Augustus. My Augustus. I want to tell him that he did do something extraordinary, after all. That this tiny person is a piece of both of us, that even if the world doesn't recognize it, we made beauty out of something terrible.

There are trials to come. There will come a day when I depart this world, and there will be sorrow. But there will also be unmeasured joy. I believe in a capital S Something, and I believe that when I get there, I will see the people I love. And after years of suffering, there will be freedom.

**Epilogue**

My name is Hazel Grace Lancaster. To my right is Augustus Waters, the great star-crossed love of my life. And I can now say for sure whether the dead watch over our loved ones: We do.

I had ten years with Augustus Peter, the most beautiful child to walk the Earth. Not that I'm biased or anything.

I would love to tell you that they invented a miracle drug, that I'm writing this from my adorable cottage at the ripe age of 65. But I'm not. I died when I was 27, at Memorial Hospital in Indianapolis, with my mom, dad, and son standing at my side. At 10 years old, Augustus Peter already knew that my death was coming. He was amazingly smart for his age, still is, actually. He's 20 now, and in his junior year at Indiana University, where he's studying business. Augustus and I are so proud of him.

In the 10 years after he was born, Augustus Peter became a statistical anomaly. Six months after his birth, we were able to finally take him out of the neonatal ICU at Memorial. At six months, he only weighed eight pounds, five ounces. But he grew quickly, and was ready to enroll in kindergarten was he was five, and outdid every student in his class. He was in fifth grade when I died.

I've been looking down on him for the last 10 years, and he's done amazing things. He graduated at the top of his class in high school, spoke as valedictorian at his graduation, and got into IU with a full ride. He's had the same girlfriend for all three years in college, a girl he met in his first class that he fell for almost instantly. They went to Amsterdam together on their spring break this year.

As for Augustus Waters, well… he's still the same pretentious bastard that he was when we were on Earth. But I love him. And it's good that I do, because we have an eternity to spend together.

**It's been almost 2 years since I started this story. Thank you so much for the amazing reviews, the words of encouragement, the favorites and follows. Love you all!**

**DFTBA!**


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